STORY OF THE YOUNG MAN WITH
       THE CREAM TARTS

    During his residence in London,
           the accomplished Prince Florizel
               of Bohemia
              gained the affection of
                   all classes
                 by the seduction
                       of his manner and
                  by a well-considered generosity.

    He was a remarkable man
         even by
           what was known of him;
        and that was
             but a small part of
               what he actually did.

    Although of a placid temper
           in ordinary circumstances,
         and accustomed
              to take the world with
                   as much philosophy
                 as any ploughman,
         the Prince of Bohemia
            was not
             without a taste
                   for ways
                       of life more adventurous
                     and eccentric
                   than that
             to which
                 he was
                      destined by his birth.

    Now and then,
           when he
            fell into a low humour,
         when there was
               no laughable play
              to witness
                   in any
                       of the London theatres,
           and when the season
               of the year
            was unsuitable
                   to those field sports
             in which
                 he excelled all competitors,
         he would summon his confidant
               and Master of the Horse,
           Colonel Geraldine,
         and bid him
              prepare himself
                   against an evening ramble.

    The Master of the Horse
        was a young officer
               of a brave and
         even temerarious disposition.

    He greeted the news
           with delight,
         and hastened to make ready.

    Long practice
           and a varied
             acquaintance
                of life
        had given
               him a singular facility
             in disguise;
        he could adapt not
              only his face and bearing,
           but his voice
               and almost his thoughts,
         to those of any rank,
           character,
         or nation;
        and in this way
             he diverted attention
                   from the Prince,
           and sometimes
              gained admission
                   for the pair
                       into strange societies.

    The civil authorities
        were never
              taken into the secret
                   of these adventures;
        the imperturbable courage
               of the one
             and the ready invention
               and chivalrous devotion
                   of the other
            had brought them
                   through a score
                       of dangerous passes;
        and they
            grew in confidence as time
                went on.

    One evening in March
         they were
              driven by a sharp
                  fall of sleet
                       into an Oyster Bar
                     in the immediate
                         neighbourhood
                            of Leicester Square.

    Colonel Geraldine
        was dressed and painted
              to represent a person
                  connected with the Press
                       in reduced circumstances;
        while the Prince had,
           as usual,
         travestied his appearance
               by the addition
                   of false whiskers
                 and a pair
                       of large adhesive eyebrows.

    These lent him a shaggy
           and weather-beaten air,
         which,
         for one of his urbanity,
           formed the most impenetrable disguise.

    Thus equipped,
           the commander
               and his satellite sipped
                   their brandy
               and soda in security.

    The bar
        was full of guests,
           male and female;
        but though
               more than
                   one of these offered
              to fall into talk
                   with our adventurers,
           none of them
             promised to grow
               interesting upon a nearer acquaintance.

    There was nothing present
         but the lees of London
               and the commonplace
                   of disrespectability;
        and the Prince
            had already fallen to yawning,
           and was beginning to grow
             weary of the whole excursion,
         when the swing doors
            were pushed violently open,
           and a young man,
         followed by a couple
               of commissionaires,
           entered the bar.

    Each of the commissionaires
          carried a large dish
               of cream tarts
             under a cover,
           which they at once removed;
        and the young man
              made the round
                   of the company,
           and pressed these confections
               upon every one's acceptance
                   with an exaggerated courtesy.

    Sometimes his offer
        was laughingly accepted;
           sometimes it was firmly,
           or even harshly,
         rejected.

    In these latter
          cases the new-comer always
        ate the tart himself,
           with some more
              or less humorous commentary.

    At last
         he accosted Prince Florizel.